Moving Forward
by JackOwens1860
Summary: This is a series of one-shots concerning pivotal points in various characters relationships. Will be told from multiple speakers and POV. First one is Bruce trying to reconcile with Dick after firing the seventeen-year-old as Robin following turmoil. Chapter 2 complete, Jason and Dick
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This will be a series of one-shots charting the various relationships between characters at key moments throughout their history. Although some may not be exact canon, I would like to think there is a degree of it in every chapter that gifts it both credibility and realism. At present, I have only prepared two stories for publication, this one and another between Jason and Dick at the beginning of Jason's tenure as Robin. Ideas welcome.**

**This one-shot features Bruce and Dick a year after the man fired his ward as Robin. They have not spoken since his departure and Bruce finds himself struggling to concentrate on matters in the cave. Alfred suggests a solution that Bruce is unconvinced of. Then Alfred makes Bruce carry it out.**

**Either convince me you like it or convince yourselves I like it. Whatever that means.**

**Enjoy.**

**Moving Forward**

**Bruce**

Tonight has proved to be…atypical. Routine patrols seem unusually difficult to complete without marked errors in technique or execution when I am engaged in combat. I am frequently mistiming steps and not striking through blows sufficiently. This means it takes two hits instead of one in order to incapacitate an opponent and I suffer greater damage than would be warranted to accomplish such goals. I am aware my lack of REM sleep and punishing schedule is not helping matters, but neither is it to blame either: I can function efficiently even after three days of non-stop combat and operations. There is an underlying cause for this amateur behaviour but I am loathe to admit it. It is the boy. He has been gone from this house and all that includes for nearly fourteen months.

At first I did not notice his absence. I would suppose my anger negated his lack of presence. I yelled at him before he left. I yelled loudly and I did not omit anything. I made it clear I did not want him anywhere near me or Gotham's streets. I fired him in the worst circumstances. Since that night when I watched him ascend the cave steps for the last time, he has not been in contact with me at all. I know he has called Alfred. The old man receives at least one phone call a week from him. Alfred then passes on regards I know Dick has not given in some effort to soothe broken bonds. It is ineffective but I do not tell him so. I also know the boy has taken on a new moniker and costume in his role with the Teen Titans. He is apparently calling himself Nightwing and dressing in clothes far more appropriate for his age. From what I can gather, he is performing admirably in a leadership role. I am indifferent.

The problems began two or three months ago. The holiday season had passed with relative obscurity in the house as they always had before the boy's arrival. Outside in the city, I maintained my public image as a philanthropist by donating gifts to Gotham's Children's Hospital and assisting the mayor in lighting the tree outside City Hall. It was during this ceremony that I saw him for the first time since his departure. Despite the vastness of the crowds and the innumerable sea of generic faces regarding me, I saw him immediately. He was near the front staring at me with an expression that was unreadable. I have never been unable to read him before. The boy was wearing a heavy coat against the winter weather and appeared to have grown a ponytail during the intervening months. I did not like it. He stood watching me all the way through the mayor's speech and the ensuing chaos of joy amongst the masses when the tree was lit. I am unsure if he expected me to say something or give some kind of gesture, but when I did neither and the ceremony was officially concluded, he simply walked away. Since that day, I have had my concentration difficulties. A fortnight later, I began to suffer from bouts of insomnia and poor sleep. The quality of my investigations has dropped.

Of the twenty-two active cases I had prior to that encounter, only fourteen of them have been formally concluded. Of the eight remaining, I am only confident of three. The remaining five cases are not of sufficient quantity or weight to allow me to formulate workable theories. This is down to my errors in gathering basic information and intelligence for the investigations. I am growing unbearably obtuse in my methods and deductive reasoning. I am not thinking clearly anymore and can barely secure enough evidence for convictions to be upheld in court. It is highly distressing to find myself at such a juncture. It is because of the boy. It is because…

I miss him.

I arrive back at the cave before two A.M. Alfred is constantly on standby presently due to my newfound abilities to sustain disabling injuries from even the simplest of situations. The old man is not pleased with my aggravating already sore ribs with further punishment nor is he thrilled by my purchase of a sprained wrist courtesy of improper arm bar technique. He regards me after bandaging my wrist with a great degree of sadness present in his eyes. He emits a long sigh before placing a hand on my shoulder.

"Just talk to him, Sir. You can't continue this way for much longer."

"I'm quite certain I can continue this indefinitely, Alfred."

"Not unless you mean as some twisted interpretation of an afterlife. You need to clear the air with him."

"You know he won't speak with me Alfred."

"So go and speak with him directly at his apartment, Sir."

"He will not see me."

"Did you know he thinks you don't love him anymore?"

I stare at the old man in silence for several minutes. He is serious in what he has just said. The boy honestly believes I do not love him anymore. It is as absurd a notion as I have ever heard uttered. I shake my head.

"That is impossible." I say. Alfred sighs again.

"No, Master Bruce, that is the logic of an eighteen-year-old boy who has been all but thrown out of his home and now rents an apartment in a city even more dilapidated than ours so that he will not 'sponge' off your wealth. The only man he loved more than his own parents has effectively disowned him and has not even attempted contact of any sort since that abandonment. How would you suppose the young man would interpret it if not that you no longer wish anything to do with him?"

I was aware of the boy's living arrangements and his part-time jobs to pay the rent. I am aware Bludhaven is not a pleasant place to reside and that its crime rate rivals Gotham's without much effort. Alfred has told me everything Dick has told him. I have listened and stored the information. But I have not analysed any of it. I have not interpreted any of the data available to me. I would consider it unnecessary prying into affairs that do not concern me. Dick is grown now and his privacy must be respected. His wishes must be respected. I must not encroach on his liberties or choices. I must not break under the pressures.

"That's not true. I am merely respecting his wishes that I do not interfere in or try to control any aspect of his life." Alfred stares at me in what can only be described as astonishment.

"My God…sometimes you really are not quite human, are you Sir?" I frown.

"I do not understand your meaning, Alfred."

"How would talking to him interfere in his life?" He asks despite my understanding the answer to be obvious.

"It would waste his time." There is a lasting silence again, but Alfred is able to break it with some force.

"Do you miss him, Sir?"

"It could be inferred that my lack of focus is attributable to…"

"That is a yes. Now ask me the question you have wanted an answer to." I know what question he is referring to, but I am already confident of the answer. It is a flat 'no'. I shrug.

"Alfred, I really think this exercise is…"

"Ask the bloody question, Sir."

"Does he…miss…me?" I say, quite surprised by my difficulties in articulating the four words required. I am hesitant despite knowing the answer. Alfred's nod indicates that I have misjudged the situation by some way.

"Terribly. He has never openly admitted as such but it is obvious when he mentions your name. There is a strain to his words whenever you become a topic of conversation. It is that of a boy still hopeful for reconciliation. Unfortunately that hope is fading with every passing week that you do nothing to justify your label as his father."

"I am not his father, Alfred. I never…" I stop when the old man slaps me across the face with an open palm. It stings enough to inform me of how angry he is with my approach to the situation. He glares at me.

"You are going to see him right now."

"Alfred it's two-twenty in the morning."

"Get some clothes on and we'll go."

"Alfred…"

"Clothes. Now."

We arrive at the apartment building shortly before three-forty-five A.M. It is a decaying ruin of an establishment, replete with crumbling plaster, boarded windows and unchartered scores of graffiti. I would imagine it to be a crack house or squatter's haven, but not accommodation. Alfred waits in the car as I open the main door and find the lock broken off. I enter the lobby and regard the mail boxes. Many flaps have been prised off but I am able to identify the boy's apartment as being number thirty on the third floor. When I arrive outside the door, I am quick to notice access to the roof is only yards away and would be very convenient for nocturnal activities. I knock twice and wait. Oddly, the door opens immediately. Dick is clearly awake and has been for several hours judging by his lucidity. He is also dressed in nothing but a dressing gown and has wet hair, indicating that he has just taken a shower. The likelihood is he has just returned from conducting his own patrol duties in the city.

"Unless you've got some of my mail to give me, get lost." He tells me sharply. He has sustained an injury to his right arm if the way he is cradling it is any indication. I would imagine it to be a deep laceration of some kind, perhaps even a dog bite.

"You're injured." I say. He narrows his eyes.

"So?"

"I could fetch Alfred up to treat it for you."

"I don't need help."

"It's on your right arm."

"So?"

"You're right-handed. If it requires suturing, you'll struggle to stitch it effectively."

"I can manage fine, thanks. It's late so if you don't mind…" He says preparing to close the door.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry about everything that happened that night and the weeks preceding it. You deserved better." I tell him without any sort of uncertainty. He pauses halfway through the action of closing the door.

"Has Alfie been coaching you to say that?" He says with more than a hint of doubt at my sincerity. I shake my head.

"No. I mean it." I gesture at his arm, "Was it a Rottweiler?" Dick shakes his head.

"Alsatian. It didn't get down to the nerves."

"It wasn't just one, was it?" I say having observed a slight imbalance in his posture: his left leg is bearing the majority of his weight. The boy shakes his head.

"There were two. The other one chomped down on my thigh. It wasn't as bad."

"Do you feel nauseous?"

"They didn't have rabies."

"You have vomited recently though." Dick instinctively wipes his mouth to clear any evidence he assumes I have picked up on. The truth is I merely guessed based on his pallid complexion.

"I haven't been eating well recently."

"Since that is the case, perhaps you would prefer to sit down and talk rather than stand." I say. The boy averts his gaze. He's embarrassed, probably from either the state of the apartment or the lack of possessions it most likely contains.

"I'd rather you didn't come in if it's all the same. The place is…not for guys like you." He is alluding to my wealth and the luxury it affords me. He forgets I have sometimes been undercover in the field for several weeks in locations even worse than this. I do not mind grime or garbage of any sort if it is a necessity to achieve my goals.

"Dick, I have been an appalling guardian for you in the past eighteen months. I have known that since you left but chose not to act out of some misplaced sense of righteousness, one of my many faults. I know I am too late to apologize for the last year, but as you know I am late to react to most things concerning human contact. If you wish me to leave I will return to…" I am halted by his hand gripping the shoulder of my coat with an incredibly tight hold: he is literally making a fist through the fabric.

"Don't leave. Just, just don't leave please." He says in a strained voice while looking me directly in the eyes. I am rendered speechless by the pain and desperation in his eyes. Everything Alfred said is true: Dick believes with the utmost sincerity that I do not love him. He believes it. I incline my head.

"Okay. I won't." He slowly releases my coat and takes a few deep breaths to steady himself. I can see he is close to breaking down. I let him gather his thoughts before suggesting anything else. "Perhaps I could come in?" He nods at me before turning in the doorway and limping into what appears to be the living room. It is Spartan in this apartment. There is no discernible furniture beyond a battered sofa and wooden coffee table. The space is not as unkempt as I had envisioned whilst the general condition of the walls, floor and windows are of acceptable quality given the area. When I sit down beside him, I notice the television set perched on a book shelf on the opposite side of the room. It is a small portable variant with a scratched silver finish.

"I know it's crappy, but I'm trying to keep expenses to a minimum so I can spend the cash on my utilities for crime-fighting."

"I see. Where are your medical supplies?"

"In the kitchen, bottom drawer of the cabinet."

I find the medical kit easily enough and return to the living room. "It's not too late to have Alfred treat you instead of me." I remind him whilst setting the kit down on the coffee table. The boy shakes his head.

"I'm fine with you doing it this once. You know you don't look so hot yourself." He informs me having obviously taken note of my bandaged wrist and general body stiffness as I sit back down. I unfasten the kit.

"Recent patrols have been less than desirable in their content." I reply taking out the suture thread and disinfectant swabs. "May I see your thigh?"

"Only if you're a gentleman about it." Dick says with half-a-smile. I cannot help but smile back. I should not have let him go like that. It is easy to say such things now, but hindsight is a terrible thing especially when it proves your course of action was incorrect.

"Keep yourself well covered." I say before lifting his gown to uncover an uncomfortable-looking series of holes that form a perfect half-circle on the thickest part of his leg. It is still weeping blood as I tend to it. As I work we talk about his relationship with the Titans. He tells me everything is fine and they are doing well with their missions. I am glad he is not completely isolated here. The wound is surprisingly simple to treat and I conclude matters with it in less than ten minutes. Then I turn to his arm. His forearm is badly lacerated and bleeding profusely. It will require suturing. He registers no real reaction as I suture the wound shut which surprises me somewhat: there is normally a yelp of some kind when faced with this kind of treatment. Perhaps he is tougher. Perhaps my opinion of him is too condescending. Either way, I am pleased.

"I'd be willing to give you one more chance, Bruce." Dick tells me when I have packed away the kit. I wait intently for his conditions. "As long as you're really sorry about the way things ended between us, we can work something out." I nod my head.

"I was angry with you for all the wrong reasons. I had no right to say the things I did. I regret all of them. I never wish to distance myself from you again." The boy smiles at me in something approaching satisfaction.

"I'm sorry too. I kind of said some things I wish I could take back. I think you understood the 'not-a-little-kid-anymore' part of my rant a little too well." I would agree with that observation. I will not make a similar error. He shrugs. "But I'm not coming back to the house and I'm not sponging off your money. I just want to feel like I can drop by if I get the time or if I call you that you'll actually pick up the phone. That's all." His conditions could have been easily met a thousand times over by this stage. If I had listened, they could have been occurring right now. I nod in understanding but must add a little caveat of my own.

"I will contribute a little financial aid to supplement your income and also provide you with the equipment you need for your duties with the Titans and on the streets here." The boy is instantly wary of my proposal.

"How much aid?"

"Would two hundred dollars be sufficient?"

"That's like half my monthly income."

"I trust it might help you obtain a better standard of food?" I say referencing the empty Chinese take-away cartons and pizza boxes I found on the kitchen countertop. Dick still looks unsure of my offer.

"Am I sponging off you?"

"Hardly. I would merely sleep better knowing you are able to look after yourself effectively." The boy nods.

"I missed you too." He says. Regardless of Alfred's keen observational skills, Dick is still the only person who can see right through me in such matters. He considers the offer again. "If it helps you concentrate better at work or sleep better at night or whatever, I'll take your offer."

"I am glad. I shall call you tomorrow if you like." I say getting to my feet in preparation to leave. Dick nods.

"Yeah that would be cool."

"I trust you can manage your own way to your bed?" He smirks at me and nods.

"I'll be okay. I'll speak to you tomorrow."

"Good night Dick."

"No, big guy, Good morning." He corrects me with a good-natured smile. It is enough to give me pause and reconsider what words I really wish to exit on the strength of. Alfred's assertions that Dick should understand I still love him seem the best way to part terms on. I begin.

"Dick, you know that I have always…"

"Yeah me too. I think I'm getting how you feel about me now is the same as usual. I don't want you to embarrass yourself by saying it out loud. We're both terrible at holding those kinds of conversations." He says cutting me off without sounding too sharp. "Call me tomorrow afternoon please." I incline my head in gratitude.

"Until tomorrow." I say before closing the door behind me. As I descend the stairwell on route back to the car, I understand that Alfred was unmistakably right in his analysis of the situation. I have not completely mended burnt bridges but I have made a start. I would do anything to continue talking with that boy, to have him be a part of my life. I realise that now. I am thankful I was not too late.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Jason encounters Dick for the first time in his tenure as Robin. Dick has some advice. Jason is not entirely receptive.**

**Enjoy.**

**Moving Forward 2**

**Jason**

It's not hard, this vigilante gig of mine. The rules are simple enough: do the right thing, don't jump to conclusions and of course don't kill anyone. I can follow them but I'm definitely already guilty of flunking the first two like every French exam I ever took. I've never been close to breaking the last one. I think about Two-Face and almost persuade myself I might be capable of it, but I'm not. I'm just mad. But that's as far as it goes to now. I got a handle on my temper. I got a handle on myself. That's why he's letting me fly solo tonight. He trusts me to do the right thing, not jump to conclusions and not snuff out anybody's candle. It's been a long time since somebody believed in me and it means a lot that Batman's the guy backing me. I feel wanted. I feel good about myself. I feel like Robin.

Tonight's pretty quiet. I get in a few rounds of batting practice in the Narrows courtesy of two groups of would-be rapists and one gang of muggers to get my range and then move on to the Bowery for the big game. The big game is a guy running an illegal gambling operation in a condemned building and turning a tidy profit. The problem is that this guy isn't just a solo act: he's part of the Umberto crime syndicate, once run by a couple of brothers who both got their comeuppance a little too late for a lot of people. Despite them both pushing up daisies, their crime syndicate is still in control of nearly half the city's illegal gambling profits and bookmaking joints. Anyone doesn't pay up or anybody stands against them always ends with a shallow grave either in the ground or under the harbour waters. So I'm going to end this shit with some finality by taking down the main players and burning the building down.

Just so you know, this was not my plan: it was Bruce's. He said I could do the rest of the patrol my way so long as I took down this rat-hole his way. A deal's a deal right? There's little need for subtlety in a scenario like this. Since that's the case, I smash a couple of window panes and lob some CS gas grenades into the room to funnel the scum out of the building's limited protection. Once there's a sizeable crowd of thirty or forty people gathered in front of me, I formally announce my intentions.

"Good evening retarded monkeys of Gotham. I'm Robin and my boss has decided that you all need to stop what you're doing tonight. That being said, those of you who are purely gambling addicts and pathetic junkies can scurry back to your shit-hole tenements and apartment buildings to either shoot up or let your better halves shoot off about your problems. The remainder of you I assume work for the Umberto crime syndicate. If you do, you're unlucky as there's a shortage of your kind in GCPD's cells and I need to fill a quota. Make it easy on yourselves and just lie on your faces now." My little speech separates the scum into the relevant piles of human garbage until I'm left staring down fifteen heavy-set guys in designer suits who are also all clearly well-armed.

This is still the big guy's plan. He provided the speech and I provided the insult and the quip. It's called teamwork. He said fifteen guys who were armed would be left after the smoke cleared and there are. He said I had all of six seconds to close the gap before one of them would be in a position to fire. So I charge in. Once I snap the quickest one's arm clean out its joint, I know I'm safe. After I go on to cut down another seven of them, mostly with sickening head kicks and some crushed kneecaps, I get unceremoniously kicked in the chest hard enough to fly back against the nearest dumpster.

Before I've even made contact with the dumpster, I know it wasn't one of the Umberto crew: I had them under control from the start. When I do hit the metal hard enough to leave a dent, I know the guy is playing rough. Even though my back hurts like hell, I'm on my feet in less than four seconds. Suddenly there are no more goons to fight. They're all down and the guy in the middle of them, dressed in what looks like a bad disco outfit, is glaring at me like I paid a house call to his mom. I'm not afraid of this loser. The guy's got a fucking ponytail for Christ's sake, hardly a smart move.

"Halloween's still a few months away, asshole. I suggest you take your crappy costume back to the shop and get your deposit back." I tell him. He narrows his eyes.

"Listen kid, playing dress-up is fine in your own home but not out here. You could've got yourself killed." He responds like_ I'm_ the lunatic out for a jolly. I smirk at him.

"I'm not playing and you got damn lucky blindsiding me just now. Why don't you try that again, Ponytail?" I don't give him the option of retreat: I go for him. He tries to move out of the way but I hit too quick, catching him neatly on the chin with a straight right hand. He counters of course, but it doesn't do him any good: I'm not built like other fourteen-year-olds. Instead of crumpling from the weight and speed of his right hook, I bear the brunt and hammer an uppercut straight into his balls. There's a long pause in the aftermath as I stand up and back away a few steps while he remains fixed in his half-crouched position. I wait for him to topple but somehow twenty seconds turns into two minutes. Eventually, Ponytail stands up straight and regards me in awe.

"You know my suit's got a Kevlar reinforced crotch panel, right?" He says. I shrug.

"I guessed as much when you didn't fall on your ass within five seconds. I definitely caught you full-on though."

"I was trying not to black out. Is there Kevlar in your gloves?"

"There's enough to finish most of Gotham's bottom-feeders. Who the fuck are you?"

"I'm Nightwing. He actually did it, didn't he? He trained another one. You're my replacement?" He says in what can only be disbelief. I'll take that as an insult. I clock him again: the guy's about five-eleven, one seventy-five and maybe as young as nineteen or twenty. The spandex suit he's wearing shows he's in possession of a gymnast's physique but with more heft. That he could take down those seven guys without trouble and then recover from a groin shot means he's more than well-trained. It all fits. This guy is my predecessor. This guy is Richard Grayson, the first Robin and Bruce's golden boy. I smirk.

"So you're the big guy's gold standard for partners, are you? You know you hit like a bitch?" He smiles thinly at me.

"And you talk like a punk. Does he recruit gangbangers now?" Wow, this guy's got balls to talk to me like I'm still a piece of gutter trash. Maybe I should tag him a few more times to prove him wrong about the label, mess up that pretty face of his. I'm not a gangbanger…I'm an animal.

"I passed all the same tests you did, Ponytail, only I did them better."

"How long was he training you for?"

"Over a year." I suddenly understand where the disbelief is coming from. I can't help but widen my eyes as revelation dawns on me. "He never told you, did he? Did he at least tell you he'd taken me in?" Golden Boy's eyes say 'no'. That has got to sting. He makes it look like it does more than that: it looks like his heart's been ripped in two. I shrug. "He probably had his reasons. How do I measure up?" He frowns at me.

"What do you mean?"

"Come on: you must have been watching me for a while before wading in. How am I as Robin?"

"Honestly? I thought you were some kind of thug in a costume. The way you took those eight guys down, I thought you were going to kill one of them. That's why I intervened. How old are you anyway? You look about thirteen."

"I'm nearly fifteen actually, pretty boy. And I'm not a thug either: I just fight like one. It suits me." I can tell the guy's more preoccupied with Bruce not telling him jack-shit about me prior to this impromptu meeting of the minds. He feels betrayed and I know that doesn't feel great. Motel rooms and subway bathrooms are where I was betrayed. Betrayals always hurt, but I can imagine if they're by someone you know and trust, it smarts a whole lot more. "Look, he probably had his reasons. You know he's all about the plans and stuff." I reiterate before kicking one of the scum at my feet back into unconsciousness. He shrugs haphazardly.

"He's an asshole sometimes, little bird. Promise me you'll be careful around him." He sounds genuine enough, but I can't help shooting my mouth off.

"What, did he rape you or something?" Ponytail stares at me in deathly quiet for almost a minute. I can see I've shocked him but not touched a nerve. The big guy didn't do that sort of thing to him.

"Where did he get you from? Please tell me your parents weren't murdered by criminals too."

"Just one of them. The other one died of cancer." He doesn't look like he wants to hear anymore right now. I guess it's enough to go off for now. I consider.

"How about we ditch these guys with Gotham's finest and then find a rooftop to talk on? Street-level conversation is probably not a safe bet."

Ponytail agrees with my suggestion. Ten minutes later, we're on top of Gotham Cathedral overlooking Park Row. It looks like a beautiful illuminated ruin from up here. It all looks that, the decay and corruption hiding behind a thin veneer of lights as the night reaches its peak. We sit on the edge of a four hundred foot drop to the streets below, he starts with the basics.

"So you got a name?"

"Jason."

"And you know my name?"

"Dick Grayson, right?"

"Yeah. So you know my story?"

"Yeah, I've heard it from Al a few times."

"So tell me yours." I only say anything because it seems fair we should even the playing field a little. I blow out my cheeks and shrug, staring down at the world far below my feet.

"Not much to tell. My mom died of cancer when I was ten or eleven, my old man got iced by Two-Face when I was twelve. I ran from foster care and lived rough on the streets for a little over a year. Then I met Bruce and…"

"You didn't just 'meet' him, did you?" I guess it's not plausible for people like us to just meet the 'real' Bruce Wayne. I consider a lie before settling on the truth. It's not embarrassing enough to lie about.

"I hocked the wheels off his car when he was patrolling. He tracked me down, guess he felt sorry for me and…" I shrug, "Then I became the second version of you." When I look up Ponytail smiles at me.

"You stole his wheels? That's awesome." Praise is good. I smile back.

"I figured I could sell them."

"You're a smart guy, Jay, honestly. Whatever he saw in you, I think I see it too."

"Still I don't think you'll be impressed with my next move." I say producing a crushed pack of smokes from the inside of my tunic liner. Golden Boy got a direct hit on them when he hit me in the chest. When I stick one in my mouth and then light it with a match from a capsule on my utility belt, Dick isn't as shocked as I thought he would be. He regards my vice as if he can almost make sense of its existence. It's rare. I don't think Bruce would feel the same way if he found out.

"How long have you been smoking?" He asks as I take a long drag. I exhale slowly.

"Started when I was eleven. My old man smoked so I did too. I'm down to one a day now though. Better than ten right?" Dick shrugs his shoulders.

"It's not my place to judge. How are you finding living with him and Alfie in the house?" I take another drag before nodding. When I breathe out this time, I am totally calm and relaxed.

"It's okay. Al home-schools me because of my problem with authority figures, but I don't miss the pecking order of the school food chain. Bruce is…well, the guy is just himself. You know what I mean, it's hard to describe him as anything but Bruce. It's a sweet enough deal but I think this stuff out here just makes it perfect." I'm not a psychopath or anything, not by a long way, but I enjoy hurting people. Being physically capable enough to manhandle almost anybody you lay eyes on is unreal. Turning the violence onto the scumbags that deserve the beatings and the broken bones makes you feel invincible. Dick nods in understanding.

"I know what you mean. It's freedom out here, right? That's the same thing that suckered me in too." He says with a large undercurrent of contempt in his voice. I take another drag and decide I've had enough for one night.

"Well, you don't sound bitter about it at all." I offer sarcastically whilst stubbing out my smoke on the roof slates.

"Can I give you some friendly advice from one Robin to another?" Please God no, not a lecture from this guy. Al's table manners

"I can't guarantee I'll take it on board, but go ahead."

"Bruce expects the world of you every time you step out on patrol. If you are any less than perfect, he will come down on you really hard. All I'm saying is don't be surprised if he fires you more than once during your time as Robin and try your hardest NOT to take personally. If you do, things disintegrate faster than you can imagine. Bruce doesn't understand relationships and bonds like ordinary people do: he sees no need to take back hurtful things once he's spoken them and never has a limit on how far away he can distance himself from you. If you feel him pulling away, don't stand by and do nothing: reel him in early and it'll offset the damage before it gets serious." Jesus. It's actually like I'm pet-sitting for one of those lunatic cat owners who treats the stupid thing like a person and leaves a laundry list to sift through. So he hurt you, Ponytail: maybe you shouldn't have made him your daddy. If your parents are dead, they're dead and you accept it: you don't make someone else your replacement…wait a minute. Am I a rebound for Dick? Nah, that's bullshit: I'm nothing like this pansy. I roll my eyes.

"Do you just want your job back or something? You make it sound like an impossible task when it's nowhere near. You just do as you're told and everything is totally fine with him." Golden Boy smirks at me.

"You really think it's that simple with him?"

"You don't scare me, Ponytail." I say, barely resisting the urge to bare my teeth. I don't like smug, especially on this ponytailed circus reject. He nods in agreement.

"I noticed that. I just hope you're all thick skin instead just some. Bruce's criticisms cut deep." I can't help getting to my feet, despite the lack of floor space available. I set him straight on the issue whilst trying to level the bass in my voice.

"I can handle him chewing me over. Thanks for your advice all the same though. But if you make a scene at the house about all this I'll break your fucking legs." Golden Boy looks surprised by my threat, but not in any way intimidated.

"That's it? I levy a couple of complaints about the guy's character and you're ready to fight to the death to defend his honour?"

"I hate whiny bitches who complain about their lot in life. My life was shit but I don't complain about it or the people involved. It solves nothing to complain about things you can't change."

"I'm not complaining about my lot in life, little bird. I'm just letting you know what you can expect. I wouldn't want you going into this thing with your eyes shut. That's all. Don't bite my head off." Okay, I snapped a little too easily there. Back-up plan, Jay-Jay…insults.

"Then stop calling me little bird."

"Are you going to quit calling me Ponytail or Golden Boy?"

"Have you got a ponytail?"

"Yes."

"Well, that one's staying. And I'm keeping Golden Boy, too."

"Why?"

"Because it suits you. Pretty boy is just an ironic title."

"Alright fine. You win the war of words, little bird."

"I told you not to…"

"Okay, you're fourteen and that's a perfect age to be an obnoxious little brat, but don't dish out banter if you can't take it back. You make fun of my ponytail, my looks and my talents so I take a swipe at your short stature, bird-like physique and total lack of polish. It's a game remember?"

Okay, Golden Boy's got some serious verbal skills here. I underestimated him. Maybe he's right about the friendly advice. If he can rattle me that easily, Bruce could probably do a lot more damage. I should thank him for the heads up but I won't. I'll compromise by apologising.

"Look I suck at introductions so I'm sorry I gave you the wrong impression of me. You seem like a nice guy. I'm just used to being on my toes and Bruce is the first person in a long time who actually likes me. I didn't mean to snap at you. Honest." Dick smiles whilst rising to his feet.

"It's okay. I like you. You're good. Just try not to get too wound up and we'll get on famously." He says extending his hand. I accept it and we shake to seal a weird kind of friendship. Brothers under the mask might be a good title for it. We stare at each other.

"You're going to make a scene anyway aren't you?"

"I'm going to at least shout at him."

"Fair enough. I think Al will leap to your defence."

"God, I hope so. That would be perfect."

"You know it's funny?"

"What is?"

"I think I like you too…Dick."


End file.
